The Partners Program
by Queenafoster
Summary: A new way of doing things...


The Partners Program  
By Queena Foster

Alexander Waverly huffed silently as he studied the proposal.

"Alexander, surely you see the advantages. This is scientific; it cannot fail."

To put off answering too quickly—and flippantly—Waverly clamped his pipe between his teeth and continued to look over the figures.

"I realize you've never considered anything like this—it's a wholly new approach—but the numbers speak for themselves, Alex."

Waverly came from a generation that considered the familiar use of a man's given name allowable only with express permission, and he wasn't impressed by Martin Goshen's cavalier inattention of etiquette. However, such protocol was going out of fashion these days, and Waverly decided to overlook what he considered to be ill manners. This was, after all, Goshen's first Summit Five as the Section One replacement for the traitorous Harry Beldon. Waverly and Goshen were technically equal in rank though Waverly had far more experience and therefore, more influence. And Goshen was trying to assert himself with this proposal.

"Your schema is interesting, Mr. Goshen. But I'm not sure we should roll this out to the entire command. We have the results of your pilot study, but Oslo is a rather small office."

"But the results are clear. I fear we will miss an opportunity to achieve greater efficiency if we delay any further." The implication being that their present operations were hampered without this program.

Waverly caught the gazes of Uchimura and Pradeep, knowing they were also reticent to put the plan into effect. Vasquez was appraising Waverly with an elevated brow. He would vote with Goshen.

Waverly nodded slightly to himself. He would back the new man despite his misgivings. It was a novel idea, and Goshen deserved a chance to prove himself. "All right, I will agree, but I believe we should approach this carefully. Gentlemen, I propose we put the Partners Program into effect in each of our main offices for a one year trial. If it becomes the success Mr. Goshen believes, we will make it policy and roll it out command wide. But if we find it isn't working as expected, we can return to our present procedures. Agreed?"

Goshen tried to hold back his enthusiasm, but his deep breath of triumph was irrepressible. "Thank you, Alexander. You won't regret this."

"I hope not. I would suggest that each Section One handles notification of his own office as he sees fit. I doubt that our enforcement agents are going to be as excited about this alteration as Mr. Goshen."

Uchimura's deep breath indicated dissatisfaction. "My men will not react well."

Pradeep grunted in agreement.

Goshen tried to soothe them. "Just remind them of the advantages, Kosuke."

Uchimura declined further engagement with a slight shake of his head.

Waverly, as the nominal head of the organization, decided to move the discussion along. After all, they had other matters to discuss and could not get bogged down on this one issue. "This will take some time to implement. The examiners must be trained, and then the tests administered. The results will take some time to collate. And this must all be accomplished with agents that are in and out of their respective offices depending on assignments. Mr. Goshen, what time table do you project?"

He focused internally for a moment. "Two months, perhaps? That seems feasible."

Waverly nodded once. "Two months. Mr. Goshen, you will head this. Contact the main regional offices as necessary. I will instruct my staff to assist you in whatever you need for New York."

Goshen's smile was excited as he nodded.

Waverly tried to suppress his doubts. The agents assigned to Uchimura and Pradeep weren't the only ones who would not react well. He wrote himself a note to schedule a meeting with Solo, Kuryakin, and Bostick at the first available opportunity.

**MFU**

"Misters Solo and Kuryakin are here, sir."

Waverly sighed silently. "Show them in, Miss Rogers."

The door slid open, and Napoleon Solo walked in, closely followed by Illya Kuryakin. They took their customary seats, and Waverly slid the table around till the new proposal sat in front of them. Solo glanced at it, but quickly returned his attention to Waverly. Kuryakin shoved his glasses on and began to study the documents. Waverly noted Kuryakin's immediate confusion and concern as he silently read.

Waverly cleared his throat, "Gentlemen, in front of you is a new procedure for teaming agents called the Partners Program. Mr. Goshen has piloted the program in the Oslo office, and it has produced some provoking results."

Solo showed faint surprise and possibly…alarm. He took a closer look at the proposal this time. "Provoking how, sir?"

"It has improved their successful closure rate to seventy-four percent."

Solo appeared somewhat impressed. "Those are good numbers, sir."

"Yes, rather. It was discussed at Summit Five, and Section One has elected to give this new procedure a trial run in each regional head office to assess its larger applications."

Solo pursed his lips, "With the new graduates from Survival School?"

"Office wide, Mr. Solo."

Waverly noted a quick glance at Kuryakin, but Solo never gave much away. He was far too politically astute.

The CEA began his argument, "Many of the present teams already have rates this high or better."

"I'm aware of that, but there is always room for improvement."

The muscles in Solo's jaw worked. Kuryakin sat like a stone.

"Don't you agree, Mr. Solo?"

"No one's perfect, sir."

"Exactly. I realize this will cause some dissention among Sections Two and Three, but I expect you and Mr. Kuryakin to set an example."

Despite the fact that his agents did not speak or even look at each other as they continued to study the proposal, they were clearly in communication. After a moment, they both looked back at Waverly. As usual, Solo took the lead, "Of course, sir."

Kuryakin nodded once. "Yes, sir."

**MFU**

"Psst! Barb! You're not gonna believe what I just heard!"

Barbara blew out a slow breath as she tried to concentrate on the page. "What is it?"

"They're gonna split up the partners!"

"What partners?"

"_All of them!_"

Barbara couldn't figure what Joanie was going on about, so she stopped typing and turned around with an exasperated sigh. "What?"

Joanie glanced around carefully before answering, her voice still hushed. "Waverly just gave the word. The agents have to take a test, and the results determine who they're partnered with."

"What kind of test?"

"Something written—like in math class."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. I don't believe that for a second. Napoleon wouldn't stand for it."

Joanie arched her eyes smugly. "I heard he doesn't have a choice."

"He and Illya have been together too long. They're the best in the world; Waverly wouldn't split them because they failed some math test."

"Mark my words; you heard it from me first."

**MFU**

"_Napoleon!_" The door sensors were far too slow as Tim Morelli as nearly beaned himself storming into his supervisor's office.

Solo was working at his desk and didn't bother to glance up. "Something on your mind, Tim?"

Morelli waved the remaining fragment of the notice that came with his mail. "What's the meaning of this?!"

Kuryakin was at his desk opposite Solo's. "You have a problem with paper in general or that piece in particular?"

Morelli glared at the Russian. But the two senior agents weren't upset, so... "Oh. It's a joke. And I fell for it hook, line, and sinker." He shrugged at his gullibility and sighed in overwhelmed relief.

Solo finally looked up, "No. No joke."

"Come on, I got it now. You don't have to keep going." Tim smiled at them.

Napoleon shook his head.

Kuryakin pulled over a chair for Morelli and then propped a hip on the corner of his partner's desk. "We've had a lot of different responses, Tim. Anger, denial, ridicule, refusal, threats, laughter. You're not alone."

Morelli eyed them both in disbelief. "This is serious?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"They're gonna split—"

"_Napoleon Solo!_" The door slid open for Morelli's partner, Ed Turnbull, to enter. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Morelli sitting there. The emotions flitting across Ed's face mirrored the reactions Illya had named off. "No. No way. They can't do this."

Solo glanced at Kuryakin, and his brows bounced in resignation. "It appears they can. We got the official word from Mr. Waverly last week."

"Why on God's green earth would they split up a good partnership?"

"All agents occasionally get assigned to work with someone else. You've never had a problem with that, Ed."

"Yeah, 'cause I knew I'd be back with Tim soon! _He's_ _my_ _partner!_ They're gonna put me with some guy I don't know? Don't know if I can trust? Tim and me been together for three years!"

"I know you're upset, but whoever the computer teams you with will be a qualified agent."

"Yeah, well, there's _qualified,_ and then there's _field-tested._"

Morelli had been allowing Ed to carry the ball, but the second half of Napoleon's statement grabbed his attention. "What do ya mean _the computer?_"

Kuryakin answered, "All Section Two and Three agents will be taking a written test. The results will be fed into a computer that will match compatible and complementary agents to affect a more efficient partnership."

Morelli was still waiting on the punch line. When nothing followed, he glanced in bewilderment at Ed who looked dumbstruck. "What a load of crap!"

"I can't believe you're dumping this on us."

The vibe in the room changed, and Kuryakin shifted to a slightly aggressive posture, "You feel an undue burden is being placed on you?"

Turnbull was like a cornered wild animal. "You're gonna try out your computer malarkey while the crowd sits back and watches us get killed for sport!"

Napoleon's eyes narrowed, "Well, as much as I appreciate a good looking corpse, I don't plan to be one."

Morelli's eyes widened at the implication, "_You_ have to do this too?"

Kuryakin's cold eyes surveyed Morelli and Turnbull. "_All _agents will be taking the same test—Sections Two and Three."

Solo glanced at Kuryakin and then stood to look at the agents across the desk. "I understand you're upset; we are too. I realize neither of you are satisfied with the outcome of this discussion. But your objections will not be raised anywhere outside this office. Is that clear, gentlemen?"

Knowing Ed was gonna start yelling again, Morelli reached for Turnbull's wrist to stop him. It wouldn't do any good anyway; Solo and Kuryakin were in the same boat—and they had been partners longer than Tim and Ed. The only thing to do now was keep rowing and hope the dang thing didn't spring a leak before someone figured out where land was.

**MFU**

F. H. Egleston ran his hands over the stack of printouts. _The results!_ After all the time and effort involved in writing the program and making sure it worked, then convincing Martin Goshen to let them give it a go. Granted, Egleston and Bixby had hoped to try it out in London or Paris—one of the larger European stations—but at least Goshen had allowed them Oslo. The statistics proved the program worked, and Goshen had convinced the other Section Ones to give it a chance. Hurrah! If Egleston's father could only see him now…

Of course, it had been a bit of a bother to get the agents in for testing. They had been inexplicably resistant to the process despite the promise of improved success. Egleston had finally decided it must be American intransigence rubbing off on the other internationals stationed in New York, but Bixby in Berlin and the other examiners in Nairobi, New Delhi, and Caracas had run into the same issue. Well, Egleston had heard that Section Two and Three agents were about half barmy; this just proved it.

Egleston was seated at the round table in Alexander Waverly's office. He'd been quite pleased to find a fellow Brit in charge and assumed that's why he'd been given such a free hand in implementing the program in New York. Sadly, Mr. Waverly wasn't available often and wasn't very chatty even then. Right now, he had his back to Egleston and was conversing with some agent by microphone. Appalling manners but as he was Egleston's present chief, he most certainly would not mention it.

Of course, tardiness was just as bad. The chief enforcement agent—or CEA as the Americans insisted—was late. The man's secretary had called…something or other about an altercation. At any rate, he was supposed to be along as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Egleston fondly rubbed the top page of the printouts, eager for his moment of triumph.

Finally, Napoleon Solo and his partner—of the moment—walked in the office. Egleston was annoyed as the meeting was clearly called for Egleston, Waverly, and the chief enforcement agent. This interloper was beyond brazen in his attempt to insert himself.

Mr. Waverly cleared his throat. "You're late, Mr. Solo. I trust that you and Mr. Kuryakin cleaned up your mess?"

Solo smoothed his tie with a slight nod and smile. "Yes, sir."

"I did rather wish to question a prisoner or two; I hope you left someone breathing this time."

Neither agent seemed surprised by the question while Egleston was shocked. Did these Americans just kill everyone like at the O. K. Corral? Of course, Kuryakin was a bloody communist; despite his benign appearance, he was probably a savage. Was he actually…almost…smiling? Egleston was aghast.

Solo pursed his lips. "Illya was in particularly fine form today and put on a shooting clinic, Mr. Waverly. Once Medical gets done, I imagine you'll have half a dozen survivors in various states of repair."

To Egleston's complete and utter astonishment, Waverly tipped his head to the Russian. "Well done, Mr. Kuryakin."

Kuryakin merely nodded.

Egleston shook his head slightly, astonished. He was _surrounded_ by blood-thirsty, murderous killers; Waverly must have been corrupted. Egleston just prayed he might eventually get out of North America with his sanity intact. Barmy? These men were homicidal psychopaths!

Waverly cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, if you'll have a seat, Mr. Egleston has the results of the Partners Program."

Egleston finally managed to find his voice. "Mr. Waverly, Mr. Kuryakin needs to excuse himself. This is 'Eyes Only' at the moment." Egleston just hoped they didn't try to murder him for pointing out the obvious. Men like these…who knew what they might do?

But Solo did not seem upset. "Mr. Egleston, are you aware that Mr. Kuryakin is my number two? If I should be called away on assignment, Mr. Kuryakin will be performing my duties. I think it imperative that he be made aware of all details involved in the new Partners Program so that he is able to…handle…any objections that arise."

Mr. Waverly cleared his throat again. "Quite right, Mr. Solo. Mr. Kuryakin will stay." He glanced back at Egleston, "Surely you are aware there has been some resistance from the agents?"

Egleston nodded slightly and backed down. Waverly was Section One, after all.

Abruptly, the table—and the printouts—spun away from Egleston till the pages rested in front of the chief enforcement agent…and his 'number two.' And despite being in the presence of coldblooded butchers, Egleston couldn't help but be a little excited to see their reactions.

The two of them read, studied, murmured, pointed, and read further. They paged through the results one at a time, not at all hurried, not even anxious to check their own new pairings.

Egleston waited for their reactions. And waited. He fidgeted nervously and glanced over to gauge Mr. Waverly's response to their…non-reaction, but the old man just sat. Finally, Waverly glanced at the clock and turned his back to toggle the microphone again.

Egleston blinked in consternation. Was this all he was going to get after eight weeks of work? Finally he could stand it no longer. "Well?"

Waverly glanced back, looking a bit irritated at the interruption, but Solo and Kuryakin just lifted their eyes from the page.

Egleston spread his hands, "What do you think?"

The two agents glanced at each other briefly, and then Kuryakin sat back somewhat. Solo was calm, "We think it's going to take some time to go over these results. What if we have questions or objections to these pairings?"

Egleston sputtered, "Objections? I can't imagine a scenario that would require an automatic reassignment. Do you have an example?"

Solo glanced down briefly. "Well, here's Roy Engle. He's thirty-nine with a world of experience. You have him paired with Stan Mosk—a rookie."

Egleston shrugged slightly, "Seems a beneficial pairing to me. The young pup will learn the ropes from the elder statesman as it were."

Solo's eyes flicked to Waverly who had finished his conversation on the microphone and was paying close attention. Solo turned his gaze back to Egleston. "That would seem to be the case, but when someone is as close to retirement from the field as Mr. Engle, we prefer to increase his chances by giving him more experienced backup. A rookie doesn't always know what to look for, and his instincts for field work haven't fully developed. It would be a shame to waste the team on courier runs just so Roy has a better chance of surviving the next eight months."

Egleston bristled, "Your preference for coddling older agents wasn't a parameter that was written into the program. We should not be held responsible—"

While the response from the two agents was subtle, Egleston felt the increased pressure instantly. Kuryakin leaned forward again, his eyes so cold as to be icicles. Solo's intense gaze was more like one of those lasers Egleston had heard about. Egleston sat back, unconsciously putting more distance between himself and the two men.

Waverly harrumphed, "Perhaps we forgot to mention that policy, Mr. uh, Egleston. Mandatory retirement for Section Two is age forty, and—"

Egleston wanted to say that he was fully aware of this fact, but he held his tongue.

"—that last year is when their experience is most useful and valuable. However, well over fifty percent of our agents do not reach that point in their careers. We are not completely heartless despite all appearances to the contrary. It has been an _unwritten_ policy for many years that while we need the agent in the field as long as possible, we do want someone as close to retirement as Mr. uh, Engle to actually reach that mandatory age. He has _earned _it. I regret that we did not inform you of this."

Egleston could still feel the fire and ice from the enforcement agents across the table, but he nodded in concession to Mr. Waverly's explanation. "Well, I suppose we can use one of the alternates for Mr. Engle, but that has the possibility of shifting many of the most opportune pairings."

Solo's smile was gracious, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thank you for understanding. We'll try to minimize the damage to your work." He turned to Waverly, "Sir, how do you want to handle the notifications?"

Waverly nodded briefly to his agents and then glanced back at Egleston. "I prefer you and Mr. Kuryakin to manage Section Two. Handle it as you see fit. Section Three will be Mr. Bostick's concern. You're dismissed, gentlemen." They rose, but Waverly stopped them. "I want the report on today's affair by tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir." It was actually the first time Kuryakin had spoken since coming in the room. Egleston was struck by the paradox that a slight man with such a soft voice could be so intimidating. Egleston was reminded of the Sphinx…a silent, fierce sentry that seemed ready to strike at any moment.

Solo nodded slightly to first Waverly, then Egleston, and followed his partner out of the room.

Egleston was still sitting at the round table when he turned back to see Waverly looking at him.

"A word of advice, Mr. uh, Egleston; choose your words carefully when you interact with these agents. They are trained to react to threats, and you are very much in their crosshairs at the moment."

"But…but—"

"I realize that you are not a threat to them physically, but you are pulling apart long standing working relationships. Imagine you were told that you could no longer live with your wife or your son or your mother or whomever you hold dear. That person is now supposed to live with someone else, seemingly on a whim."

"I protest that this is no mere whim, sir!"

"_Seemingly_ on a whim, Mr. Egleston. These men do not have access to your logarithms, your calculations; they have training and relationships. When one of those pillars is forcibly removed, they feel vulnerable. And Section Two and Three agents do not react well to vulnerability.

"I'm not personally in favor of your program, Mr. Egleston. I worry that we may pay a high price for this experiment. However, I was impressed by your results in Oslo, and I was persuaded by Mr. Goshen's enthusiasm. But as you have already seen, the agents are pushing back which I expected all along."

Waverly continued, "Given what I've told you, I would advise you to consider a little flexibility in your results. Misters Solo and Kuryakin will follow my orders, but they also have a responsibility to the men under them to argue their best interests. All of us make sacrifices for this organization. Many enforcement agents will end up making the ultimate sacrifice…which they are willing, but certainly not anxious, to do. And quite frankly, they cost too much to train to allow them to be needlessly wasted when a simple partner reassignment might make a world of difference."

Waverly eyed Egleston silently for a moment. "I have another meeting if there's nothing else."

Egleston stared at his chief for a second, and then the dismissal sank in.

The old man's words rang in his ears as he meandered the halls, trying to find his office once again in the maze of gray steel. Martin Goshen had never made mention of this issue, and Egleston was certain Bixby had no idea why the agents were being so difficult. It wasn't mere friendship, it was their actual survival. Egleston had always considered agents to be fairly interchangeable; although his computer program was written to promote strength and minimize weakness in each pairing, he'd never considered the end results of discontinuing _existing_ partnerships.

This was going to take some thinking. And possibly some Program alterations.

**MFU**

"Ian! You're back!"

Ian Keller glanced up to see a recent classmate from Survival School. "Ram Sam, how are you?"

Janakiraman Samavedy pulled out a chair and placed his tray on the table. "I'm well. How was it?"

Ian did not want to discuss _it_ and changed the subject. "Okay. Before I left, you were trying to find an apartment. How's that going?"

Ram shrugged slightly, "Still looking. Perhaps we should become roommates; we could afford better accommodations with both our salaries."

Ian grimaced, thinking of the high rents in New York. "Have you asked Stan Mosk? I've got four sisters, and I've always wanted to try living on my own."

"Stan's been on assignment with..." Ram stopped to think. "Uh…Mr. Neely is his partner, I think. But I want to hear how _your_ assignment went!" Ram was bouncing with excitement.

Knowing he could not avoid it for long, Ian finally conceded, hating to burst Ram's bubble. "I can't understand why I was even there."

"What happened?"

"_What happened?_ I trailed around behind Mr. Solo like a lost puppy."

Ram blinked in dismay, "I rather expected that you would be in the thick of it as the partner of the chief agent."

"I thought so too. But one would have to actually be _with_ the CEA to be in the thick of it."

"Were you not…? Did he leave you at the hotel or at the local office doing—what is the English? Scut work?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. He gave me a surveillance assignment and then went to follow a suspect. One thing led to another—he might've been captured at some point, I don't have all the details. Perhaps I can read our report and find out. At any rate, he left me behind. However it happened, it was like his mind worked at the speed of light, and I was on a slow boat to China. By the time I caught up to him in Istanbul, he was already in Rome. When I followed him to Rome, he was landing in Pretoria."

"He just…?"

"I don't think it was intentional. At least I hope it wasn't. He was always apologetic when we spoke by communicator. I think he just got so wrapped up in handling the affair that he forgot about me. Or he expected me to figure it out on my own. Or he didn't have time to discuss it—I don't know." Ian shook his head in frustration.

"I'm surprised; he seemed like such a gracious man. I rather supposed he would take you under his wing. I was very excited for your coup to be assigned as his partner."

Ian sighed, "Well, if that's under his wing, then I'd rather be out in the cold. All I learned was how to make plane reservations and use my communicator more efficiently."

Ram looked crestfallen. "I am sorry. I was so hopeful for you."

Ian dropped his chip—or French fry—back on his plate. "Well, I suppose the shine is off the apple." He shook his head to get rid of the unpleasant feeling of being useless. "How about you? How are things with Mr.…?" Ian searched his memory for a name. "Miller?"

"My partner is Mr. Assawadi." He grimaced, "Our assignment did not go well. He is going to be fine though—the doctors assure me." Ram did not elaborate.

"I'm sorry." Ian eyed his friend in sympathy; while he wanted to ask, it might go down easier if Ram didn't have to talk about it again. So Ian changed the subject, "How are the rest of the new partnerships? What's the gossip?"

Ram took a quick glance around and lowered his voice. "Badly from what I understand. Though some seem to be working out all right, there have been many complaints. There was a _real_ fight in the gym between _so-called_ partners yesterday. Accusations, finger pointing, fisticuffs; it was an ugly scene. Mr. Kuryakin called them to his office, and I heard they've both been suspended for unseemly conduct."

Ian suddenly had the unhappy thought that his complaints about Napoleon Solo might get around. And Solo was his supervisor as well as his partner. "Hey, Ram, what I said before—"

Ram shook his head slightly and shrugged, "I will say nothing; do not worry. But really, many of the new partnerships have had problems. I'm certain Mr. Solo will be learning that today. If he is upset with you, I'm sure he will realize this is a little bump compared to the other problems that have been raised."

Ian blew out a deep breath. He certainly hoped his big mouth hadn't gotten him in trouble with the boss. As much as he hated to think there were partnerships worse than his, he prayed Napoleon Solo had more to worry about than a complaining rookie partner.

**MFU**

"Ah, Miss Forsythe, please sit down. I have some questions."

"Yes, ma'am." Sarah sat in front of Ms. Landon's desk and waited quietly although she already had an idea what her boss wanted to talk about.

"I've noticed some irregularities in the communication logs recently. It appears that the average length of each call has increased from fifty-two seconds to three minutes, eleven seconds."

"Yes, ma'am."

Ms. Landon just waited, looking over the top of her glasses.

Sarah knew Ms. Landon did not ordinarily access the content of the logs, but she did stay on top of the staff to make sure they weren't wasting company time. If Sarah didn't have a good answer, Ms. Landon would likely read the transcripts.

"Well, ma'am, as you can see, the average has gone up, meaning that most all of the routine calls are taking longer now."

"I'm aware of what an average is, Miss Forsythe."

Sarah rushed to calm her supervisor, "I just wanted to make sure you understand that it's happening a lot, and it's not just one or two girls."

The huffy breath indicated that Sarah better get to the point pretty darn quick.

"The problem is that almost all of the Section Two and Three agents want us to check on their old partners."

Ms. Landon sat back slightly, "How so?"

"Well, say Mr. Solo calls in; then he asks about Mr. Kuryakin. Or Ms. Dancer will request information on Mr. Slate. I had to cut off Mr. Morelli the other day to answer another call—just in case it was an emergency. It's really become rather difficult to get them to conclude their calls without providing the additional information."

Ms Landon sighed, "Oh, bother."

Sarah worried her fingers. "It's distressing a number of the communications staff, ma'am. The agents are clearly concerned about their former partners. We worry if they're really able to devote their attention to their own missions when they're that concerned about someone else. And maybe I'm wrong, but it seems we've had a number of setbacks lately."

Ms. Landon's full attention returned to Sarah. "You know I don't approve of gossip, Miss Forsythe."

Sarah dropped her eyes, "Is it gossip if it's true? We're just worried about them, ma'am."

A slight softening broke through Landon's grim visage, "Ah, I know that, my girl. We all worry about them even when they're driving us batty. I'm sure that constantly keeping track of all these people for the agents is very trying as well. I commend you for easing their minds—as I'm sure you have." She fiddled with the blotter on her desk for a moment, "I think there have been several reverses as of late and perhaps some outcomes that were not as good as hoped. I'm sure that Mr. Waverly has a plan to manage the problem."

"Yes, ma'am." Sarah nodded briefly, hoping the Old Man would be putting it into effect soon.

"Thank you for clearing up this matter. Please communicate my pleasure to the staff for the good job everyone is doing. You're dismissed."

Sarah stood, "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

**MFU**

Nate Mullen was a numbers guy. He and two other fellas maintained statistics for all of North America. When Mr. Waverly wanted information about how his agents or offices were performing, he called Nate. And as Nate had a general background that might be useful, he'd been seconded to F. H. Egleston and the Partners Program. But despite all the support that had been provided, the new protocol for teaming agents was not going well.

Nate glanced over at Egleston, wondering how this next interview would go. Their previous experiences with this agent had been somewhat less than successful.

Egleston looked tired and…older…than a few months ago. And right now, he looked like he'd rather be tied to train tracks with a locomotive chugging in the near distance. "Nathan, please bring him in."

Nate picked up the phone, "We're ready." He held his breath in anticipation.

But it was always a bit of a letdown when Illya Kuryakin walked in a room. He was not an imposing man, and in this setting, he didn't seem very threatening. The blond stood in front of their desks like a statue, almost at parade rest. Granted, a statue with bandages on his forehead and a black eye, but a statue none-the-less.

"Mr. Kuryakin. Here we are again."

"Mr. Egleston, Mr. Mullen."

Egleston cleared his throat, "In the last six months, you've had six different partners."

"That many?"

Mullen bit his lip to keep from smiling. He'd heard that Kuryakin was one of the most intelligent men in the entire North American command. It was unlikely he'd forgotten his partners despite the way they flew past. Sarcasm then…

Egleston looked constipated. "Yes, that many."

The Russian's unbandaged brow rose fractionally, but he did not otherwise respond. His indifference was like a shield.

"You know, Mr. Kuryakin, we've had each agent evaluate his last mission after returning."

Kuryakin nodded once, maybe a quarter of an inch.

"Would you like to hear yourself described?"

Nate got the impression that Kuryakin didn't care one way or the other.

Egleston cleared his throat and glanced at the paper on the desk. "Aloof, cold, distant, uncommunicative, surly, arrogant, demanding, bad tempered…" Egleston glanced up, "Shall I go on?"

Kuryakin looked a little…bored, maybe?

Egleston sighed, "Do you disagree with these assessments?"

"Mr. Egleston, I have been in western Europe and the United States for more than a decade. Surely, you don't think I'm unaware of how most citizens regard Soviet nationals. Even in U.N.C.L.E., there has been a degree of prejudice. I've heard all these words and many others much worse. And I am cognizant of the fact that I'm not the most congenial individual in the command. This is not a surprise."

Egleston took a _very_ deep breath. "Shall we discuss your communication issues then? Many of these descriptions seem to center around the fact that you don't keep your partner notified of your whereabouts or plans or new developments."

Kuryakin appeared to consider the problem. "I do not believe I was withholding information. I simply pursued the resolution of the affairs as needed, much as I have always done. It is not my responsibility to hold my partner's hand and explain every action like it was a bedtime story. I know I discussed relevant events and plans with my…various…partners whenever possible. And quite frankly, sometimes events occur more quickly than can be compensated for with communication. A field agent must frequently adjust his tactics and responses to meet the situation as it develops."

Mullen watched Egleston as he shook his head minutely, "Mr. Kuryakin, I'm not certain what we will be able to do with you. I've attempted to team you with agents that would be suited to your…_personality_, but you seem unable to achieve adequate cooperation with anyone."

The brow again, "I do not see that personality should have any bearing on cooperation. We either get the job done or we do not. I refuse to risk the successful completion of a mission in order to explain my every move to a partner. And as my statistics demonstrate since you began this program, my partners' personal feelings about me don't seem to matter. If you don't find anyone suitable to work with me, I'm certain I'll be fine on my own." With that, Kuryakin bowed slightly and left the office.

"Oh, that man!" Egleston began massaging his forehead.

Mullen felt a degree of sympathy for his colleague. From what Mullen could see, Kuryakin was everything Egleston said. But while the Russian was a stick in the mud personally, his reputation on the job was sterling. 'Tireless, professional, driven, intuitive, efficient, cunning, single-minded, fearless,' were also words his various partners had used. And he was one of the few agents _internationally _who had not suffered a drop in his successful closure rate since beginning the Partners Program.

And what Kuryakin had not pointed out—likely _consciously_ not pointed out—was that he and Napoleon Solo had never had trouble communicating. It seemed unlikely that such a successful team would waste time on 'unnecessary discussion.' They probably both reached the same or similar conclusions from complete opposite sides of the globe and, without a word between them, still managed to show up and foil whatever nefarious plot was afoot.

Kuryakin had been through six partners, Solo four. With the world on the line, neither wasted time on partners who couldn't keep up. Perhaps the problem was that the two of them were so much better than everybody else that no other agents could maintain their pace.

**MFU**

"Yo, Max! Where we going with this one?"

"Who ya got?"

"Uuhhh…Mosk."

"Let's see…let's see… Oh, here it is. He's going in with Mr. Turnbull."

"Yeah? Where's his office these days?"

Max Bokowski rubbed his head as he searched the listing, looking at crossed-out and rewritten names. Every single agent except Solo—Section Two head—and Bostick over Section Three, had moved at least once. Most of them had moved numerous times. Max had heard that the vast majority of the agents never even unpacked their boxes anymore…saved time since they'd probably be moving again in a few weeks.

Hank sidled up close to Max's shoulder, "Yo, how many guys we lost since they started the musical partners bit?"

Max shifted uncomfortably, "That ain't none of our concern, Hank."

Hank looked offended, "I figure it's everybody's concern. We ain't agents or nothing, but we help them do the job."

Max broke a little under the assault, but he maintained his outer shell—a shell he'd built in the hellholes of Korea. "Look, Hank, don't try telling me my business. I been here years longer than you, and I seen a lot of agents come and go. This ain't no game these boys're playing. Men die—even the good 'uns. Sometimes, ya gotta pretend like it don't matter. Only way to get through. Keep that in mind before ya open your trap, huh? 'Specially around these agents."

Hank stepped back, hopefully listening to Max's instruction. After a few seconds, he looked at Max silently. He nodded a little and glanced down, "So where do I gotta put Mr. Mosk's things?"

**MFU**

"Mr. Waverly, I have Mr. Goshen on line one."

Waverly's brows rose slightly as he picked up the phone. "Waverly here."

"Mr. Waverly, it's Martin." Downcast, quiet.

"Ah yes, how is Berlin?"

"Not well. Not well at all."

Waverly waited for further explanation, but when nothing seemed to be forthcoming, he prompted, "How may I help you?"

"I want to discontinue the Partners Program in Berlin. It's been a complete failure here."

"I see." Waverly tried to decide how to proceed with this information. "Did something happen recently, or has this been building for some time, Mr. Goshen?"

"Please call me Martin; everyone here calls me Mr. Goshen." A faint sigh, "A little of both, I suppose. I didn't foresee the resistance the agents would have to the Partners Program. Most of my career in U.N.C.L.E. was spent in Sections Six and Seven. My typical interaction with enforcement personnel was generally after the fact. Yes, I did spend some time in Two and Three as I worked my way through management, but I never actually had boots on the ground, as it were. I suppose I just didn't understand the havoc the Partners Program would create."

Waverly sighed slightly, "I confess that I had concerns about this problem. I know that I can speak for Mr. Uchimura and Mr. Pradeep when I say they felt the same. But your pilot study in Oslo had such good numbers that I felt we should at least give it a chance."

"I wish you had not allowed me to persuade you."

Waverly smiled softly, "Would you have believed an old fogy like me?"

A small laugh, "No, I suppose not. I was convinced I was right, that we could modernize the command and achieve overwhelming results." He paused, then, "I was a fool."

"What happened, Martin?"

Total silence for a long moment, but finally, "Tonight, I lost Section Two, Number Three along with two other agents. Six went in, three came out. The survivors said there was a misunderstanding about the timing of the explosives. Mr. Schuler went back for the other two men. Now, all three are dead. "

"That wasn't necessarily related to the Partners Program."

"There have been too many losses already and a great number of near misses. And the results aren't improving. I've tried to rationalize that the agents were just being difficult, that they didn't like change. I've told myself that the problems have only been growing pains. But tonight…it's too much. And it's undeniable. Schuler was…an outstanding agent." He paused for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I want to stop…before I have another night like tonight."

"Martin, if you continue in your position as Section one, you will have other nights like tonight. That is inevitable."

"I suppose I know that. But I would prefer not to be partially responsible next time."

"You are in command, and the young people under you _will_ die. You must bear that accountability."

"I believe I can manage that; but I do not want to be part of the problem. I need to be part of the solution. I think that can best be achieved if we discontinue the Partners Program."

Waverly allowed himself a sad smile. "You do not need my approval, Martin. The vote was three to two. If you withdraw your consent, the majority swings the other way."

"Yes, but…I do need _your_ approval, Mr. Waverly."

Waverly cleared his throat, "Then you have it."

Silence reigned for a few seconds. "Thank you. I— Thank you."

"Certainly. Good night, Martin."

"Good night, sir."

Waverly sat at his desk, momentarily wondering if Martin Goshen would survive the end of the Partners Program. His short tenure in Section One had already been difficult. Now his agents would be returning to their former partners…if they still lived. For those that lost partners, there might be hard feelings indeed. Waverly knew that he himself had been in Section One long enough to withstand any backlash, but Goshen might not have earned the credibility yet. The turmoil might lead to Goshen's resignation or the transfer requests of many of his top agents. Waverly did not look forward to the fallout in Berlin.

He reached for the intercom, "Miss Rogers, are Misters Solo and Kuryakin in the building?"

"Let me check, sir…yes, sir; it appears they're both here."

"Have them to report to my office."

"Certainly, sir."

Waverly released the switch. At least the experiment was over, and the New York office could get back to what passed for normal.

The door slid open, and Solo came in gazing backwards as he flirted with Lisa Rogers. His left arm was held in a black sling that appeared to be silk—if such an impractical thing existed. The door didn't have time to close before Kuryakin strode in with a reproachful gaze at Solo.

Waverly suppressed a grin as he looked down at his assignment sheet. "Ah, Mr. Kuryakin. You and Mr. Garcia were scheduled to leave for Portland tomorrow; Mr. Solo, I think Mr. uh, Drury should go with Mr. Garcia instead.

The two agents almost caught each other's glance, but their movement was enough that they were aware of the opposite's well hidden surprise.

"I'm sure Mateo will be glad to reunite with Drury, but isn't this going to upset the Partners Program? I believe Mr. Egleston was quite certain he'd finally found Illya's soul mate in Garcia." Solo almost smiled as Kuryakin breathed a long-suffering sigh.

"Yes, well, I believe Mr. Kuryakin will be otherwise involved in another project I have in mind."

The blond merely lifted his chin to indicate his willingness. "Yes, sir?"

"I rather imagine it will be time consuming to disentangle the agents and return them to their original partner assignments."

"Sir?" Solo, of course, answered for them.

"We are terminating the Partners Program, effective immediately. The results have not been as projected."

Solo gamely fought a grin, "And we are reinstating _all_ prior partnerships if possible?"

Waverly looked at them both, his chess board knights, always working in tandem wherever he had them positioned. "Unless you have another plan you'd like to implement?"

Solo's grin was getting bigger, but he shook his head. "No, sir."

"Then you are dismissed."

Even Kuryakin had a hard time hiding his smile as they left.

The door to Waverly's office was still open when they stopped at Miss Roger's desk. "Lisa, do you know where Max and Hank are today? Illya needs to shift his office again."

"Never mind, Napoleon, I can manage it myself. Let's go."

The door shut when they moved off, and Waverly allowed himself a full smile. The rhythms of the office had been out of sync for months now, and it was time to get back to normal. He turned away as the microphone behind him sounded. Back to business, soon to be business as usual.


End file.
